Departing Arthurians
And to the past they rode
The Shining Host: lent death
or immortality
by golden sands of time.
Call not them back
Lest to discover that
They who last held
Rome's bright light
Were marauders
Filled with spite
Nor recall
Their lovers fair
And find them sluts
Or, robbed of time's gifts,
Now only wizened mutts
Let them go.
But catch the insubstantial tales,
Akin to Kingly gossamer threads.
Only dusty spider's webs
By noon's blinding light
but the silk of dreams' delight
In evening's gentle dales.
** I know that this is too short to be a lay, but I don't really have a time to write a new poem (especially something as long as a lay), and I don't want to break my pattern and re-use a style. When it comes time for me to spend a week on each of the types of poetry I am writing this month, I will write real lays, I promise. Also, the title is subject to substantial change**
Copyright © Grace Williams | Year Posted 2011
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